Embrace the Fire Indestructible

After missing nearly the whole summer, my friend H. and I finally got together for a boba tea night. It was delicious, as usual, and conversation largely flowed in eddies around the last few hectic and challenging months: family, travels, the novel she’s writing, our usual venting, and loved ones who have recently passed away.  It was a good evening on many levels.

I keep meaning to mention her husband’s musical pursuits here, and finally decided I had to do it tonight after they treated me to two new songs and a sneak preview of the current project. Brian is a great example of the fantastic “get excited and make things” bug you might’ve seen espoused by the likes of the Space Bastard and Wil Wheaton.  If you’re at all amused by nerd rock  à la Jonathan “Skullcrusher Mountain” Coulton or are just curious what a clever man can put together with a guitar, a piano, and a Mac laptop, please do check out Brian Gray’s music.

Author Caitlin R. Kiernan has been doing an intriguing series of posts on her blog showcasing music videos that embrace the unexplainable story nature of weird fiction. She’s chosen some stellar examples, to be sure. (Visit her “weird fiction” tag page for viewing and commentary.)

Those who have made the list so far:

1. Placebo – “Pure Morning”
2. Radiohead – “Just”
3. Bjork – “Oceania”
4. Damien Rice – “9 Crimes”
5. Fever Ray – “If I Had a Heart”
6. Radiohead – “Karma Police”
7. Tool – “Prison Sex”
8. NIN – “The Perfect Drug”
9. Depeche Mode – “The Perfect Caress”
10. I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness – “The Owl”
11. Aphex Twin – “Come to Daddy”

We never had cable, growing up, so it’s only been with the advent of YouTube that I’ve seen much in the way of videos. I’d seen two of these before, but it’d been so long, I’d forgotten them.

Interestingly, numbers 7, 10 and 11 reminded me of a couple of very specific Edige games — 7 and 10 made me think of Wayward nearly instantly, with a very distinct and terrible Keeper/Changeling vibe to them. “Come to Daddy” felt very much like a mashup of  ”City of Ocean” and John Carpenter’s Prince of Darkness.  /shudder

And really, is I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness not the best band name ever? I’m really looking forward to more of these posts; I’d never heard them or Damien Rice before, so it will be interesting to see what else she comes up with.

If you’re a fan of weird fiction, please do go and watch the vids.

Uncle Jim’s funeral was today. I saw out-of-state cousins I haven’t seen in 20+ years, most of whom I didn’t even recognize. Thankfully, there was minimal drama. I’m considering that a win.

The minister was half an hour late; he’d written the time down wrong and had to scramble over when the funeral director called to find out where he was. As another aunt pointed out, though, Uncle Jim would have thought that quite a hoot — there would have been much in the way of eye-rolling and dramatic sighs and and head shaking. And he would’ve groused about it to anyone who would listen. Repeatedly, and with a gusto he might otherwise reserve for ND games and NASCAR races. As soon as Aunt D. pointed that out, an audible chuckle made its way around the room. No one was particularly upset by the delay, and apparently the minister did a fine job in the end, I’m told.

My family is typically Midwestern in that they all consider themselves Christian (Methodist or non-denominational, mostly), regardless of how many years it’s been since the last time they attended church or read the Bible.  I’m the black sheep in that regard; my beliefs have changed drastically since the days of youth groups, thrice-weekly church services and at-home Bible lessons. So although I know the minister’s words were meant to comfort my aunt and the rest of the family, I found myself seething after a few minutes and ended up reciting song lyrics to myself to tune him out. So much emphasis on “defeating” death and how unnatural it is; so many assurances that belief in God supposedly robs it of its power and sting. So many promises of eternal and perfect life in a heavenly mansion.

It is one of the great tragedies of Western civilization that we demonize death to such an extent. We’re taught from an early age to fear death — which is necessary for self-preservation, yes — but there’s also the insinuation that it’s some sort of nebulous, evil force in the world that needs to be overcome, banished, defeated.  As soon as someone dies, they’re whisked away and hidden from view, sterilized and either burned or made into some waxen effigy of the person we knew. We’re awkward and uncomfortable around those who have just experienced such a personal loss; we allow them a certain brief period of private grieving, and then expect the mourners to get on with their lives according to some arbitrary self-determined timeline.  We avert our eyes from death, we speak of it in somber and hushed tones and make it into something wicked and fearful.

Worst of all, though, are the Bible passages that are inevitably recited in a vague attempt at offering comfort. To tell a woman who has just lost her husband of 53 years that Jesus has “defeated” death, that death has no sting, because her husband is now dining at the right hand of God instead of sitting beside her …  how dismissive that is, how it diminishes of the importance of her grief and pain and turns the focus away from the loss and to vague promises.

I would much rather we faced death head-on. One of my co-workers told me a little of her grandmother’s funeral in Jamaica, how everyone went out and bought new clothes in a specific color, based on your generation in relation to the deceased; how they sang and celebrated her grandmother’s life for the traditional nine nights and then on the final day, led a colorful procession to the burial site. There are traditions to uphold, and often food and drink offerings to the deceased, and stories and songs and commiserating amongst family and friends for at least 10 days following the death. There is sorrow, to be sure, but it’s balanced by companionship and celebration.

And I can’t help but feel a little jealous at that.

Kotaku.com posted the track list for for Rock Band 3. It boils down into three nearly-even categories for me:

1. Yay! Also, … what took so freaking long?
   INXS, Echo & the Bunnymen, Primus, Metric, “Been Caught Stealing,” “The Beautiful People,” etc.
2. Really …? You hate us that much? (Yes. Turns out they do.)
   Amy Winehouse, Huey Lewis & the News, Night Ranger, etc.
3. … Who? Wellllll … all right. We’ll try it. I mean, maybe you’ll introduce me to the next Silversun Pickups …

There are more than a few questionable choices, IMO, but I guess we’ll see. Some will undoubtedly be fun just by sheer dint of pushing the ridiculousity envelope.

Pup #3 of MF’s own personal pack has entered the world. He’s a feisty one, if the nickname is any indication. And that’s a good thing — not only does he have some catching up to do, but he’s going to need that orneriness to keep up with the rest of the clan. Especially the dog.

Welcome, Big Kick. And thank you for reminding us that the world carries on.

My uncle, James Radics, joined the honored dead this morning at 5:30 AM.

It has been a very long week, full of deadlines and projects and an insane amount of last-minute problems. A friend moved out of state, and I had to bow out of one of my favorite games. Again. I can’t remember ever missing so many in so short a timespan.

And then, I was supposed to have a small break from the terrible last night. Mom called early yesterday evening — just as friends had begun to arrive — and left a message telling me the doctor had said it was unlikely that my uncle would last until midnight. Her voice wavered when she said she didn’t know whom I prayed to, but that my aunt and uncle needed prayers.

I cried a little, but I couldn’t pray right then. Even though we’d known for a couple of weeks, now, that this day was fast approaching, I couldn’t find the words.

It’s strange, how your mind tries to rationalize things upon receiving such news. I told Will that I couldn’t stay but that he should go on with our plans, since one friend had already arrived; he instantly recognized that I was in no state to drive over to say my goodbyes by myself, and insisted on driving me. Somehow he managed to convince me of this, and quietly made apologies, in-person and on the phone, to our friends for the cancellation.

It was a difficult visit. When we arrived, Mom and middle brother were there along with several members of Uncle Jim’s family. There had already been drama, with one of the brothers storming off earlier in the day. My aunt was talking on the phone with their son, who had been allowed to call twice, once on his own dime, and once for free when the chaplain made the arrangements.

The interior bedroom was small and cramped and hot, and their two small, anxious dogs refused to leave his side. I went in and out a few times, staying as long as I could before the conditions became overwhelming. I badly wanted to stay with my aunt until he passed — after all, where else should a child of the crossroads be? — but in the end, I had to admit I couldn’t stay. Making myself sick wasn’t going to make anything easier for either my aunt or my uncle.

It wasn’t until the ride home, after I had seen how miserable my uncle was, and how my quiet aunt held his hand so gently and with such love, that I finally found the words for my prayer.

Goodbye, Uncle Jim. I hope you’ve found peace and comfort at last.

I don’t always agree with everything KO says … but in this case, yes. Yes, I do. Well-justified fury, thy name is Keith Olbermann. And I, for one, appreciate the underlying anger that shows through in this commentary.

The tide of insanity and terror in this country just keeps rising — born not from any imagined “other,” but from our own fellow citizens. The possibility of a future attack by Muslim extremists is mildly concerning in a “yay for the government agencies and military personnel who are watching our ass” kind of way.  For me, the true terror of the world since 2001 lies not in vague threats of violence by desperate, brainwashed outsider pawns, but in the hateful fear-mongering of creatures like Limbaugh, Beck, Gingrich and Palin. It continues to baffle and infuriate me that millions of our own neighbors (apparently just as desperate and brainwashed as the Jihadists they so despise) swallow their crocodile tears and half-truths until they can’t see the problem with denying basic human rights to those who exist outside their cramped little comfort zone.

Freedom of speech is a glorious thing, yes. But when that speech is goaded on by fear, and causes harm to others by infringing on their rights, something’s gotta give. And yes, “Ground Zero mosque” protesters and Prop 8 supporters, I’m looking squarely at you.

1. Win! Thank you, thank you to Chas, Lucy (my favorite crazy Chinese lady) and Mom for calling to make sure I knew that I’d won the Fox28 drawing and had to call the station.  I had just turned off the early news and missed hearing my name by mere minutes, so I’m very grateful you took the time to let me know!

2. Prop 8 Goes Pop. Chief U.S. District Judge Vaughn Walker overturned California’s loathesome Proposition 8. The decision will most likely be appealed, of course, but I have to believe it’s inevitable that lawmakers will eventually recognize the Constitutional right of all humans, regardless of gender identity or sexual orientation.  If only it could happen sooner rather than later.

For the first time in I don’t know how long, I slept for six hours straight through — no tossing and turning, no waking up at every little sound, no dreams that I recall,  just switched off and then startled awake from a deep sleep by the alarm.

I blame the yoga for this one. (Status report: Still no furniture casualties. Still awkward getting up from the mat.)  We had our session later in the evening than usual because I’d had to take Mom up to visit my uncle in the hospital after work, so I was still feeling pretty relaxed by the time I got home. I’m trying to be more mindful of my posture and breathing away from class as well, and it seems to be having an effect — when I remember to pay attention.

We are lucky to have access to the perfect teacher, for us — she is patient and relaxed and moves us forward at a nice, steady pace without making it seem like our awkwardness is an affront to everything she holds dear. Also, she bemusedly puts up with our smartassery and occasional giggle fits, which I appreciate. This sort of thing is much easier to enjoy if you’re allowed to have fun rather than treating it as Serious Bidness at all times.

This is the weekend I accomplished nothing. Well, nothing except burying my nose in a handful of books.

I took Mom home from the hospital on Friday, and so I stopped at the bookstore on the way, thinking I should pick up a few books to take along when I stayed with her.  Strangely enough, after I got her home, we were both immediately exhausted for some strange reason and napped for a good three hours or so.  She puttered around the house a bit, and after a good half an hour of testing things out with the walker, announced that I could leave. Which was not our deal; I was supposed to stay with her for the first few nights home, and she insisted that I should not — that she was getting along perfectly well and I’d only be sitting around watching her sleep, and she’d had quite enough of that, thankyouverymuch.

In the end, she had me go and pick up her prescriptions and then chased me out. I think she just desperately wanted to be alone for a while, after the constant worrying and wake-ups and phone calls and poking and prodding of the last few days.

So, instead of hanging out at Mom’s this weekend, I made myself utterly useless and had a reading binge the likes of which I haven’t done in years:

• Roadkill -book 5 of  Rob Thurman’s Cal Leandros series.  Good, as usual, although I found myself a tad annoyed that it took Cal so long to figure out how to rid the earth of the Plague of Worlds.
• Just Another Judgement Day – book 9 of Simon R. Green’s Nightside series. Fun, if only for getting to see old favorite characters again, and the latest twist on the odd relationships between John Taylor and Mr. Walker and Taylor and Suzy Shotgun. Possible hints that the terrible future glimpsed in Sharper Than a Serpent’s Tooth may come to pass.  Otherwise … a fast read and sort of forgettable.  (Also: John Taylor’s trademark snark just doesn’t even come close to Cal, Nikos and Robin from the Leandros novels.)
• Jack of Fables #7: The New Adventures of Jack and Jack – spinoff graphic novel from Willingham’s Fable series. Fewer Babe the Blue Ox appearances, sadly, but I am amused that Jack is being written out of his own series.
• The Red Tree – Caitlin R. Kiernan. Builds slowly, takes an awful lot of autobiographical color from the author — which isn’t bad, just odd, to see it used so freely — and employs a few conceits I’m not particularly fond of. Even so, Kiernan manages to reinforce her status as the only author who has successfully managed to creep me out in a very potent and visceral way, and always makes me bone-cold afraid for her characters, even though I know going into the story that it cannot possibly end well. It never does — and in this case, we’re told as much before the novel proper even begins.

And now it is after 1 AM and I should go to bed, probably to dream about dark and endless caverns of muck and still black pools, snaking off from the basement, and dog people with red-brown eyes, and murderous red oaks, with their leaves falling everywhere…